


you are the dreamer (we are the dream)

by hopefulundertone



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Wet Dream, important: if your initials are HK please don't read thx, not really but jic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulundertone/pseuds/hopefulundertone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is going to hell. Like, he's going to fucking keel over right now, and die, and wake up in hell, with like, sulphur and brimstone and hellfire. The rest of the guys are outside smoking up to relax after tonight’s show, with the exception of Andy, who's probably just chilling with them, and oh, that's right, Patrick. He'd said he was going to bed early because he was tired, which Pete definitely heard, but somehow forgotten, and it’s just karma that he’s frozen in between the bunks, listening to Patrick making a lot of seriously distracting noises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the dreamer (we are the dream)

**Author's Note:**

> title from hum hallelujah, this is based on that one post by thelastrascal on tumblr, who wrote, "im sorry I can't stop imagining the noises Patrick would make during sex I'm sorry all those gasps and moans imagine him having a wet dream and twisting his hips in his sleep i can't do this" so thnks fr tht. other than that, not much to say: unbeta'ed of course, unedited as well, and wrote at 3 am while i couldnt sleep for thinking about that post.  
> also: if you know me irl please for the love of god do not read this.

Pete is going to hell. Like, he's going to fucking keel over right now, and die, and wake up in hell, with like, sulphur and brimstone and hellfire. There is literally no questioning this, and Pete has always kind of known it, but damn is he realising it now. The point is, Pete is going to hell, because he walked past the sleeping area to get to the fridge, because the beers that they'd bought earlier are warm and gross and he drew the short straw to fetch ice. The rest of the guys are outside smoking up to relax after tonight’s show, with the exception of Andy, who's probably just chilling with them, and oh, that's right, Patrick. He'd said he was going to bed early because he was tired, which Pete definitely heard, but somehow forgotten, and it’s just karma that he’s frozen in between the bunks, listening to Patrick making a lot of seriously distracting noises. To be specific, sex noises, which were soft, barely more than hitched breaths, but unmistakable nevertheless. So Pete’s kind of standing there and listening to the literal love of his life dream about sex. This is why he's going to hell. 

And Pete's a firm believer in "in for a penny, in for a pound", so he leans down, tugs the curtain of the bunk open further and swallows sharply, because Patrick is without a doubt having a wet dream, looking like some of Pete’s own dreams, the kind where he wakes up sticky and vaguely guilty. He nearly bites through his lip when he sees Patrick twist his hips down into the sheets (god, those fucking hips, the way he shakes them onstage, he knows Pete wants to bite bruises into them right there in front of all of their fans), face flushed and breath uneven. His hair is messy and sticking out everywhere, and it's the hottest thing Pete's seen in a while. A very long while.

Forever, possibly.

Patrick's still making those fucking noises, the ones that make Pete want to lean in and lick their taste off his lips, soft moans and quick, gasping breaths. He does, in fact, lean closer, hands itching to close around Patrick's, which are curled into the sheets, watching as Patrick's hips stutter up again, trying to rub against the too-thin blanket in vain, and is just close enough to hear Patrick murmuring words in between his moans. At first, Pete thinks he's just whispering the word 'please' over and over, but then he fucking whimpers, breathy and needy, and the word that edges out around the sound is unmistakably Pete's name, and then Pete ducks his head just in time to catch, "...please, Pete, just, let me..."   
Fuck.   
Since he's going to hell and also uncomfortably aroused (and by that he means his dick has taken over most of the decisions with an alarming lack of moral tendencies),  Pete brushes his fingers over Patrick's pink-tinged cheek, cupping it lightly, and can't help but hiss out a breath when Patrick does a full-body shiver and leans into the touch. He isn't sure how Patrick manages to be this fucking hot, while he's asleep no less, because when he's awake he's either pissy as fuck or made of rainbows and adorable puppies, but Pete's dick enthusiastically agrees with his decision to press the heel of his palm just over Patrick's cock where it tents against the sheets. It elicits a groan, low enough to send shudders down Pete's spine, so he retaliates by palming Patrick and grins with satisfaction as his hips buck up and Patrick whimpers again, needy and desperate, the words "please" and "Pete" slipping out of his mouth like curses. He's practically begging now, writhing into his sheets and still searching for friction, which Pete gives to him gladly, rubbing Patrick in earnest.  
"Pete, hey- oh, fuck." The sleepy sentence startles Pete, and he glances up at Patrick's face, tired and turned on but definitely awake, head dropping back before he can finish the sentence as Pete thumbs over the head, rubbing it through the precome stained bedsheet. And, that’s right, he’s allowed to do this now, so he cuts Patrick off by dragging the sheets roughly down over Patrick's cock and lowering his head, breathing out a hot breath across it.

 

Above him, Pete hears him stutter out a breath and grins to himself, but because Andy had terrorised them for days to remember to always ask for consent (“it’s not sensual if it's not consensual”, Pete remembers with a flash of horror as Andy grinned at him, tapping him on the forehead with a drumstick, seriously fucking traumatising), he glances up, looks straight at Patrick, who's watching him, eyes dark and breath still quick and inconsistent, and murmurs, "What do you want, 'Trick?" And before he can reply, Pete lowers his head (he might be on the straight and narrow and all official with Patrick, but he's not above dirty play by any means), and lets his breath ghost across Patrick's exposed dick, "Do you want me to suck you off?" It draws out a helpless noise, small and desperate, from the depths of Patrick's throat and a jerky nod. Pete grins up at him through his eyelashes and leans forward, taking Patrick's dick into his mouth and giving a few experimental licks before sucking him down properly. Patrick curses sharply, the "fuck" that crosses his lips sounding like it was startled out of him, settling his hands in Pete's hair and thrusting helplessly against Pete's firm grip on his hips. Quickly, he’s set up a comfortable rhythm, flattening his tongue against the underside of Patrick’s dick and going down as far as he can.  Not much later, he feels Patrick’s entire body tenses, wound up like a coiled spring as he groans, low and quiet. He tugs on Pete's hair, trying to pull him away, but Pete stays resolutely where he is and swallows, coughing for a second, because he really doesn't get to do this that much. People don't seem to get that above the waist only applies to him.  
Patrick's shaking slightly and Pete's still uncomfortably hard, so he's resigned himself to jerking off to the taste of Patrick on his lips in the venue bathroom when Patrick pulls him up and kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy as fuck, before splaying a hand over Pete's chest almost shyly. "Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.", and he sounds so fucking innocent, but when Pete inhales sharply and meets his gaze, there's more than a hint of dark promise, and Pete could never say no to Patrick, so he nods frantically, trying not to do something stupid, like come in his pants right there and then.  
After a mad scramble for the necessary items, he covers his fingers with a liberal amount of lube and carefully slides one inside Patrick, stroking his fingers soothingly down his sides as Patrick shudders, and after a moment, pushes back against Pete's hand. In a daze, he adds another digit, scissoring Patrick open as he writhes back against Pete's hands, breaths harsh but quiet, and Pete decides there and then that he'd going to make Patrick scream, and to hell with whoever heard them, because seriously, a singer who wasn't loud in bed? Fucking unacceptable, and definitely not permitted in his band, even if he had to enforce the rule himself. In fact, especially if he had to enforce the rule himself.  This in mind, he hurriedly inserts a third finger, and on his second thrust, to his immense delight, finds Patrick's prostate, and rubs against it relentlessly, playing Patrick's moans like a musical scale until he can't wait anymore. Pete lets his fingers trail across the soft bump of his prostate before adjusting himself in the cramped space as he rolls on the condom, and slides into Patrick, who muffles a shout in his forearm. That won't do, Pete thinks, and pulls Patrick's arms away from him and behind his back, fucking him into the mattress with small, deep thrusts that make Patrick whine and writhe, begging for him in broken sentences, "Harder, please, Pete, fuck me harder," pushing back against him, and for a second, Pete is too focussed on the implications of that to notice Patrick humping the mattress. The next moment, however, he reaches under them, silently berating himself for not realising Patrick was hard again, let alone about to come, and wraps his hand around Patrick's dick. The sounds he makes are blissed out, but still too fucking soft, so he adjusts his grip, thinking back to Patrick's murmured words while he was sleeping.   
Turns out he's right, because the moment Pete closes his fingers around the base of Patrick's dick, Patrick jerks and hisses and fucking _sobs_ , practically dissolving into a pleading, quivering mess, murmuring "please, please, Pete, let me, please" over and over, a waterfall of words that has Pete seeing stars.   
Finally, he pushes all the way forward, burying himself to the hilt in Patrick's ass, and bites Patrick's neck, hand shifting to jerk him off instead. They come within seconds of each other, Pete with a shout he bites into Patrick's shoulder and Patrick with a drawn out moan, and he pulls out reluctantly, pinching the condom off and tying it off, before pitching it into the bin. On a hunch, he wraps his hand around Patrick's cock, still sensitive and overstimulated, and Patrick finally gives a hoarse, strangled scream, bucking into the hand involuntarily. Pete smirks, mission accomplished, and as an added bonus, he was right; it was always the quiet ones that were the kinkiest. He tells this to Patrick, receiving a punch in the arm and an embarrassed glare, which immediately fades after Pete leans forward and kisses him on the mouth, solid and welcoming.   
It's entirely possible, Pete muses, that he overreacted to the situation. As Patrick tugs him up and wraps his arms around Pete’s shoulders, pressing light kisses to his forehead, Pete reconsiders, and decides that it’s really much closer to his idea of heaven.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow so thats the longest thing ive written in at least a year, and its pwp. im so proud of myself.


End file.
